No Looking Back
by Sue Snell
Summary: The Enterprise's Engineering staff makes many permanent modifications to the ship and goes through many irreversible changes itself. What will Geordi, his friends, and his crew discover? Will have some Data x Geordi. Feedback appreciated and responded to.


_Chief Engineer's Log. Stardate: 43807.8_

_After discovering that the strange and dangerous anomalies I mentioned before were caused by invidium contamination due to us carrying those old-fashioned medical containers from the Mikulaks, Lieutenant Barclay and I temporarily mitigated the problem by freezing the affected systems, rendering the invidium inert. We are now en route to Starbase 121 in order to have a full decontamination, and maybe a little shoreleave for some well-deserving engineers. _

_On a more personal note, Reg seems to be recovering well from his holo-addiction; it's nice to see him arriving on time more often and actually socializing a little when he gets the chance._

...

"Invidium contamination, huh?" the base's top repair specialist said, raising an eyebrow, "We don't see that a lot." His disinterested tone of voice should have been Geordi's first clue that this decontamination wasn't going to go as smoothly as he'd hoped, though he couldn't possibly predicthow derailed things would be in a mere matter of hours.

Then again, it might have been Geordi's imagination, but he thought the specialist's voice sounded distorted by his room's tiny viewscreen's audio output. Even if he was wrong, he still preferred communicating in person to this; his VISOR's translation of the viewscreen's display was really only a bunch of information about the viewscreen with a vague, person-shaped shadow in the middle—not what he'd see if he were looking at the person.

"Yeah, I know," said Geordi. "Only the _Enterprise_, right?" he added with a chuckle.

"Right," said the specialist, laughing.

"So you think your guys can take care of it?"

"Well," the specialist—Geordi thought his name was Johnson, but it had already slipped his mind—said, pausing thoughtfully, "If memory serves, invidium deteriorates pretty quickly when exposed to sigma radiation—"

"Which won't damage living tissue as long as exposure doesn't exceed about ten hours," Geordi put in. He bit his bottom lip for a second as he wondered if probably-Johnson thought he was showing off by saying that. Of course he couldn't tell; he couldn't read the man when he couldn't really see him. He hoped Johnson didn't feel that way. After all, it wasn't his fault that being a walking encyclopedia was the best way to keep a ship like the _Enterprise_ from blowing up every week.

"That's right," said Johnson, "And our sensors are sophisticated enough to make sure we only hit the contaminated areas with the radiation, but..."

"But?" Geordi repeated with a frown. He'd hoped this decontamination would be relatively simple.

"Galaxy-class starships have extra—and extra-strong—reinforcement in the walls and bulkheads adjacent to the Cargo Bays, Armories, and Engineering, correct?"

"Correct," said Geordi, "Will this be a problem?"

"Well, yes," said Johnson simply, "You see, sigma radiation just can't penetrate that kind of shielding. If any of those areas have contamination—and invidium spreads in the oddest of ways so I'm sure at least one of them does—someone will have to go in there and manually bombard the area with sigma radiation for a good thirty minutes or so. I have some special portable emitters that should be able to do the job, but I don't have the kind of staff needed for that operation, Mister La Forge."

"Don't have the staff?" Geordi repeated, "Are you kidding?"

"I wish I was," Johnson replied, shrugging, "But the _Excalibur_ dumped all her shuttlecraft on us last week—I'm not exactly sure what happened, but they were practically in pieces—and needs them back as soon as possible, so the majority of my men are already overworked on that project."

"You're saying I have to get my own men to do this," said Geordi, his shoulders sagging, "Aren't you?" _And I thought we might get a break…_ He rubbed his neck as if to massage some tension out, as if he were already tired from working on this problem.

"Or you could wait for us to finish our work for the _Excalibur_," Johnson said indifferently.

"Fine," said Geordi, "I hope I can still trust you to take care of the parts of the ship that aren't heavily shielded?"

"Of course."

...

"I'll admit," said Geordi to half the engineering staff, which he assembled for this announcement in the hope of recruiting volunteers for the operation, "This is going to be difficult and time-consuming, and we can't do it during our normal shifts because Captain Picard wants us done with this as soon as possible on account of our mission to Denobula in a few days and we still have to repair all the damage the invidium's already done. This has to be done, but, to be honest, there's really only one thing you'll get out of helping me out: You'll owe me one. Who's in?"

Reluctant murmurs—people wondering _how_ difficult and _how_ time-consuming this manual decontamination procedure would be—were his only response, but Geordi was sure he could at least talk his friends into it. Data had already offered to help, at least. The android was lounging about Engineering now, wanting to see who else would volunteer.

"Yeah, okay," Geordi said, "You all want to see if there's anything better you could be doing this evening, I understand." This statement was met with nervous laughter. "I'm not going to order any of you to help me out, but I'd really like at least five volunteers, and the more the better, okay? We'll meet here at eighteen-hundred." Without another word he left Engineering, wondering if he could talk Reg into this; calling on friends to help him might be his best bet.

"Geordi," said Data, having followed the Chief Engineer out the door and caught up to him in the corridor. Geordi recognized that tone; Data wanted to ask him something.

"What is it, Data?"

"When you told your prospective volunteers that they would 'owe you one', what were you referring to? 'One' what?"

Smiling, Geordi said, "I meant they'd be doing me a favor." He repressed a chuckle that came with a twinge of guilt; he thought he sometimes enjoyed explaining figures of speech and such to his friend a little too much, since it briefly made him feel smarter than that positronic brain. He honestly wanted to help too, though.

"Yes?" said Data, seeking elaboration.

"So I'd owe them a favor," said Geordi simply.

"I see..." said Data, pausing to ponder the matter. "Do you mean that if someone does for you an unnecessary service, you are obligated to perform a service of equal merit at some point in return?"

"Basically," said Geordi, shrugging, "Although that's an odd way of putting it."

"Does this mean that I should not do you any 'favors'," said Data carefully, "That exert an inhuman amount of strength?"

"What?" said Geordi.

"You would not be able to replicate the task and would be indebted indefinitely," said Data, "This does not seem to be an ideal arrangement."

"Well," said Geordi, "I wouldn't think of it like that, Data, I mean, a favor is a favor. One favor doesn't have to be repaid with the same favor."

"How else could one determine whether or not two favors are of equal merit?" said Data, forming a puzzled frown. He was having trouble with the concept of "owing" something with no quantitative value.

"It's kind of hard to explain," Geordi confessed, "I'm sorry. Are you still going to help me with this decontamination?"

"I suppose," said Data, though, oddly enough for someone who couldn't actually feel reluctance, his lower-pitched tone of voice and the way his chin tilted a little downward implied that he had reservations about the matter.

...

"Please," Science Officer Isaac Richardson said, "Please? I could really, really, use your help. Unless I'm really lucky, another opportunity like this won't come around for at least eight months."

"I'm sorry," said Lieutenant Hansen, "But La Forge is really counting on me for this one; I've asked around, and he barely has enough people for this procedure as it is; if I don't help, we could run out of time."

"So could I!" Isaac protested, "You _know _that my theta-phi particle experiment can never be complete until I test the injector modifications I made in a starbase reaction chamber. I can't believe you're ditching me just because you have a man-crush on La Forge."

"I do not!" Hansen spat, "Why can't you get another engineer to help you calibrate the reaction chamber? What does that mean, anyway, 'man-crush'?"

"You do too!" Isaac cried, ignoring Hansen's first question (the answer was that he wasn't friends with any other engineers and was in no mood to try meet any), "Chief Engineer of Starfleet's favorite flagship? He's living your dream, _you want to be him._ Man-crush."

"Alright, fine!" Hansen said, shaking his head, "All the same, if La Forge doesn't get enough volunteers, the Enterprise is going to have to leave late or something. Do you want that to happen?"

"Why can't you talk someone else into doing it for you, then?"

"Because it's going to be brutal!" After he examined that answer, a little laughter bubbled out, and he added, "_Someone_ has to do this stuff, you know."

"Hansen..." Isaac shook his head. Clearly there was no talking his friend out of this endeavor, even though it would be a huge chore. He wondered if there really were so few crewmembers willing to help La Forge out with this decontamination thing…

...

"Just five of us, huh?" said Geordi, surveying the small band of volunteers before him: Data and Barclay (friends who were more or less obligated), Hansen (no surprise there; that man was one of the most enthusiastic engineers on the ship), and Carstairs (gunning for a promotion, perhaps). Not much of a crowd. It was 1800, this was Engineering, and nobody had called his combadge to say they'd be late, but he was still having trouble believing that so few people wanted to do him a favor.

"Could be worse, I guess," said Geordi after a pause, "Okay. According to the starbase's scan of the _Enterprise_, the only places we'll have to worry about are Armory two, Cargo Bay five, and Engineering. The armories are pretty small and shouldn't take more than an hour to take care of, so... Carstairs."

"Yes sir?" said the young, blonde Ensign.

"I want you to take care of Armory two. When you're done, you'll head to Cargo Bay five. I want Reg and Hansen to start there." The two men nodded.

"Data and I will cover Engineering and meet the rest of you in the Cargo Bay when we're done. Everyone got it?"

"Got it," said Carstairs, trying not to look upset about having to spend an hour working all by herself. Her lips pulled into a grim scowl anyway.

"Got it," said Barclay, inwardly moaning at being assigned to the area that would take the longest.

"Got it," said Hansen, also inwardly moaning, but because he was partnered up with someone who'd rather be playing on the holodeck than making conversation with him. It was going to be a long day.

"'Got it'," said Data, deciding to wait until later to ask Geordi what one "got" from merely understanding orders.

"Great," said Geordi. "Now, they were kind enough to send us fifteen radiation emitters, but this is very sensitive equipment that requires constant monitoring, so each of you will only be allowed to operate one at a time. I know I know…" he said to frustrated sighs, "I tried to program the computer to take care of it, but the fact is: if one of these emitters starts running out of juice or overheating, it will require immediate manual intervention. Sorry. Each one has a twenty-meter radius. Have the computer figure out which emitter locations will cover the entire room using as few locations as possible and set them up accordingly. Don't try to eyeball it; we don't have time for mistakes. For each circle, the emitter will have to remain stationary for thirty minutes—I told you it was going to be time-consuming. Any questions?" The assembled, reluctant-growing volunteers shook their heads. "Good. Here are the emitters."

He led them across the room to where the fifteen machines were assembled. Each one resembled two large but short in length phasers with wide, funnel-like tips, mounted parallel to each other facing opposite directions on a stout tripod. Standing next to one of them and looking down at it allowed one to view a small screen displaying information about the machine's status and buttons for operating it. "The controls are self-explanatory," said Geordi, "All you have to do is set it up, turn it on to emit sigma radiation, and watch that screen for thirty minutes. If one of those status indicators moves into a danger zone, immediately switch it off and call Data or me. Ready?" The group collectively nodded. "Let's get to work."

...

"I still can't believe he ditched me," Isaac Richardson muttered.

"Is it that bad?" asked his friend and fellow Science Officer, Sharon Deng, "You still have my help, after all."

"That's not much comfort," said Isaac honestly, "All the two of us can do is all we've ever done for my project: Sit here, in this cramped little laboratory, running simulations, making minute adjustments, watching the particles to make sure they don't do anything dangerous before they go back in storage… I wanted to actually accomplish something for once." His cheeks were burning and his breathing a little labored; Sharon could tell he was really upset, and she didn't blame him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"His loss, anyway," Isaac went on, trying to cool down, "If my hypothesis is even partially correct, the modifications I've proposed could increase this ship's energy efficiency by at least four percent."

"Of course," said Sharon. They sat in silence a while and watched the computer list data for the latest batch of simulations. Once it was done with about five hundred runs of the same program, Isaac would stop the program, change the parameters slightly, and start over again. Occasionally some little trend in the theoretical data would catch his interest and he'd run some manual experiments on his particles, which he always, optimistically, had ready to work with in the lab when they began, but, for the most part, it was pretty quiet work at this point in his research. Sharon thought he should just stop until he was able to use a starbase's reaction chamber like he needed to, but he pressed on; more data could only be good for research, after all. She just wished he wouldn't get so worked up, like he was now. If only there was some way she could take his mind off things…

"I'm working on a holonovel, something I started a few years back..." she said innocently, after a while. She sucked in her cheeks a little as she waited to see if her sullen friend would take the bait.

"A holonovel?" Isaac repeated with a frown, "What would _you_ write a holonovel about?"

"A starship," she replied, a little defensively, "Having adventures. Like the _Enterprise_, only with all the boring parts cut out and some more interesting characters."

"More interesting characters?" Isaac's eyebrows shot up as he considered the fact that the galaxy's only android worked on the _Enterprise_ and Captain Picard was among the most famous people in the entire quadrant. "Do tell."

"Well," said Sharon, suddenly avoiding eye-contact, "Like there's this science officer who's half-Vulcan and half-Romulan."

"And how did that happen?" Isaac asked, sounding a little condescending.

"Well, obviously, a Vulcan and a Romulan—"

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Okay, so a Vulcan guy was a Federation spy on Romulus, but he met this girl and fell in love and went a little rogue—"

"And their daughter decided to join Starfleet."

"I know it sounds far-fetched at first glance," Sharon was blushing a dark red now, "But I've got her backstory all worked out and in the story Starfleet's cool with it. Besides—" She cut herself off.

"'Besides' what?" Isaac asked. In spite of himself, he was a little interested in Sharon Deng's contribution to literature, regardless of its probable quality. He even looked up from the stream of simulation data on his display screen, blinking away the bright after-image of endless numbers.

"The Federation and the Romulan Empire are going to make peace at the end," Sharon muttered, staring at her shoes and allowing her short, dark hair to fall in a curtain about her heated face.

"Cute..." said Isaac, not wanting to insult his friend but unable to hide the fact that he found her premise more amusing than potentially publishable.

"You think it sounds awful," said Sharon, still not looking up, "Don't you?"

"Not awful..."

"But not good."

"It's a Holonovel," he said vaguely, "You'll have plenty of time to... tweak it. Tell me more about it."

"You mean it? You're not just trying to laugh at me?"

"I... I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but a half-Vulcan half-Romulan..."

"You just want to laugh at me."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Well…" said Sharon, remembering why she started the conversation, "I guess I shouldn't be so sensitive, I mean, they say constructive criticism is the best way to learn…"

"So you'll tell me more?" Isaac asked.

"Sure," said Sharon with a smile.

...

Hansen and Barclay had stared at the emitters emitting their invisible rays of radiation for most of an hour now, and Barclay hadn't said a word since they'd first set up. The ceaseless, awkward, silence seemed magnified rather than broken by the low electric humming of the emitters echoing in the large, cave-like, Cargo Bay. Hansen couldn't stand it any longer.

"So..." he said, "This is a weird way to spend your day, isn't it?" Though his coworker's emitter was a good ten or fifteen meters away from him, with little noise in the room and only empty space between them, they could hear each other clearly. His voice actually sounded abnormally loud to him and bounced around in his ears after he'd finished speaking.

"Could be worse, I guess," Barclay replied, shrugging. At least he wasn't on the holodeck. Now that he'd quit—or, to be more accurate, seriously cut back—he had far more time on his hands than he knew what to do with. He supposed he could enroll in some of those acting lessons that Dr. Crusher taught (this was not his idea; Counselor Troi recommended them to help get him "out of his shell"), or spend more time hanging out with Geordi and other friends, but, even with these distractions added to the mix, once he was done with this time-consuming decontamination he still just couldn't see how he was expected to stay off the holodeck without spending hours locked in his quarters sleeping or playing games with the computer or staring at the wall. Life seemed so oddly hollow now. He knew living without dependence on the holodeck would be far healthier, but he couldn't imagine how he was expected to deal with all the empty spaces, all the boredom…

"You alright, Reg?" Hansen asked suddenly, looking very worried.

"Hm? Oh, yes, fine..." Barclay realized he must have looked very upset for a moment there. But the thought of all that empty time looming ahead of him with no end in sight...

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Barclay. Hansen wouldn't believe that now. "It's just all this work..."

"And nothing to show for it," said Hansen, nodding, "I got ya. This is pretty brutal. Maybe we can all get a round of drinks after."

"Synthehol makes me gag," said Barclay, just staying in the conversation to stop worrying Hansen.

"I know what you mean," said Hansen, "Once you've tasted the real thing, there's no way you can stand that awful fake stuff." His face scrunched up as if he were sucking a lemon slice as he thought about it.

Barclay nodded even though that wasn't what he meant; he'd never had real alcohol before. He was vaguely aware that his roommate back at Starfleet Academy had done his fair share of sampling at parties but Barclay never went to those parties. Even if he had, the way he was at parties, his stomach wouldn't have handled anything heavier than sips of water. It was unfair, really; it made sense that his overwhelming shyness would keep his number of friends small, but it shouldn't also prevent him from introductions to food, drink, and other inanimate objects.

"Hey," said Hansen abruptly, his face lighting up.

"What?" said Barclay, once again startled out of his reverie.

"I've got an idea. You think you can man both these emitters for a little bit? I promise I'll be right back."

"I—I guess so," said Barclay. He wished Hansen would just forget about whatever it was.

"Thanks, you're the best." Without another word, Hansen disappeared, leaving nothing but the hiss of the Cargo Bay doors closing behind him to indicate he was ever there in the first place. Barclay began pacing back and forth between the emitters so he could keep an eye on both of them.

He felt lonely.

Though he hated to admit it, he also felt unreasonably anxious. What if someone came running into the Cargo Bay too fast for him to stop and ignored all his shouted warnings and knocked over one of the emitters? What if some weird, dangerous, radiation emergency happened and he wouldn't be able to get any help at all until Hansen got back? And when would that be? What if he had to use the bathroom in the meantime? He knew he wouldn't mind such a break right now, as his muscles clenched involuntarily and his uniform suddenly felt far tighter and hotter than ever. What if all this nervousness got the best of him and he passed out, knocked an emitter over, hit his head, and died, having thrown the entire mission off schedule?

He tried to tell himself he was being very unreasonable as he grew a little lightheaded.

...

"So you're trying to tell me that the Betazoid—"

"'The Betazoid' has a name, Isaac," Sharon interrupted.

"Right, fine. So you're trying to tell me that Alexis is going to be a Lieutenant Commander at the age of... sixteen?"

"Eighteen," Sharon mumbled.

"Whatever. And she'll have experience as a spy on Cardassia by then too and she's an orphan making it on her own?"

"Well..." Sharon smiled a small shy smile, "I guess when you put it like that, it could use a little... tweaking."

"A _little_ tweaking?" Isaac was trying to repress a smirk.

"Alright," said Sharon, finally allowing herself to laugh, "It's utterly ridiculous. I came up with these characters when I was fourteen; cut me some slack."

Isaac laughed too, not feeling as guilty about making fun now that Sharon was allowing herself to see the humor. "Fourteen, huh? I guess they're not that bad then."

"They used to be worse," Sharon whispered, nodding like someone who's just recited a surprising piece of trivia.

"Worse?"

"They used to be," she paused to giggle, "Fourteen."

Both lost themselves in a giggle fit for a moment, Sharon unable to stop laughing at how serious she used to be about such a ridiculous concept and Isaac unable to get over the mental image of young Sharon wrapping herself in overblown fantasies; it was such an odd image compared to the practical, serious and driven Science Officer he'd grown to know over the past couple of years.

"It was even worse than that, if you can believe it," said Sharon, once they'd recovered.

"I don't think I can," Isaac dead-panned before chuckling again.

"Let me tell you who they used to be _related_ to—What's that?"

The red breach-warning lights on the one-meter tall, cylindrical container that housed Isaac's theta-phi particles were flashing, accompanied by a surprisingly-loud klaxon threatening to burst the scientists' eardrums.

"I dunno…" Isaac muttered, punching buttons on his control panel but keeping his eyes on the container. A force field went up around the container seconds before it burst open, making both Sharon and Isaac flinch even though they were protected from the flying debris.

"Glad we could book this lab…" he said in a breathless monotone, staring at the container's remains. "What the hell just happened…?"

...

"Hey Reg," said Ensign Carstairs wearily, sauntering into the Cargo Bay carrying her emitter.

"Hey, uh, Trisorano," said Barclay with a nervous smile, "All done in the Armory?" He was leaning on an emitter and a little out of breath.

"Yep. How's it going here? Where's Hansen?"

"He had to… do something," he replied, "We, uh, replicated some markers for where the emitters need to go." He pointed at a small "x" made from yellow tape on the floor a ways away from him. "You should set up there first."

"Sounds good," she said. She hauled her equipment over to the spot. "Heard anything from La Forge about when he'll get out of Engineering?"

"No, but he and Data do have a lot of ground to cover."

"Yeah, I guess. Whoa." She stopped and set her emitter down with a grunt to examine the running emitter that Barclay had temporarily abandoned. "What's going on here?"

"What?" said Barclay. He ran over to the emitter, breaking into a horrible sweat. He was just sure that disaster was about to strike because he'd dared to take his eyes off of that thing…

...

"Carstairs to La Forge."

"La Forge here," said Geordi, looking up from his emitter and tapping his combadge, "What is it? One of the emitters?"

"Something like that… You better get down here, sir."

"Is it an emergency?" asked Geordi with an irritated frown.

"I believe so, sir."

"Fine, I'm coming. La Forge out." He sighed. Would it have killed her to be more specific? And he only had eight minutes left on this emitter…

"Hey, Data."

"Yes?" the android looked up from his own emitter, which was less than ten meters away, by Geordi's estimation.

"You think you could watch both of our emitters for the next eight minutes?"

"I could," said Data.

"Great, you do that. I'll be right back…"

...

When Geordi first arrived in Cargo Bay five, he forgot himself and just stood in the doorway, staring.

He couldn't believe what he saw.


End file.
